


chestnut

by apellai



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Gay Disasters, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apellai/pseuds/apellai
Summary: The wind from Eponine’s window drowns out the music for her, or maybe it’s the sound of blood rushing to her head. This feels romantic. This feelsdomestic. This feels right,she thinks.





	chestnut

**Author's Note:**

> I never really write romances featuring girls. I hope this is good! Let me know what you think!

She doesn’t make it obvious, but Eponine notices everything Cosette does.

Ever since they were children. She chalked it up to jealousy and hatred at the time - her mother taught her to view other girls as competitors, and until late in high school, she did. She saw the way her chestnut brown hair fell on her shoulders when she looked down, the curvature of her chin, the way she smiled at every passerby. Eponine always noticed. Eponine still notices.

They’ve only just started college. They’re getting their things together, and Cosette is obviously disconcerted by not having a uniform, she’s made one herself of a cute skirt and polo. They keep running into each other. Every time, Cosette smiles, waves excitedly, and runs off to her destination.

Eponine doesn’t know why, but when she sees that smile, her stomach does backflips.

Eventually, Grantaire calls Eponine to come to a meeting with Les Amis, and tells her to invite someone. “We’re gonna go out after. It’s time for you to college party,” He tells her.

She invites Cosette, because Marius and Montparnasse are both going to be there, though she sort of wishes they wouldn’t.  _ High school was a dark time, _ she tells herself.

She spends too much time on her appearance. Grantaire has texted her about a thousand times, saying, “You can wear whatever, Enjolras will outdress you anyway,” and “Hurry up, you’re going to miss all the good drinks, these bastards are drinking the bar dry,” and Eponine laughs. She settles on what she calls “casual goth,” a tight black tee, black skinny jeans, sneakers that have been worn to the bone, and a pair of ratty fingerless gloves. Her hair is not quite a rat’s nest yet, and Cosette always tells her it looks cool like this. She hits it with a little hairspray and texts the other girl.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, just needs to put my hair up.”

“On my way, then.”

The drive to Cosette’s is uneventful. Eponine puts on a pop playlist out of courtesy. She knows Cosette likes Britney Spears.

Cosette Fauchelevent, in all her innocence and cheerfulness, is stunning as she steps out of her front door. Eponine can see the outline of Cosette’s father behind her as she hops down the steps of the porch, no doubt lecturing her on drinking and boys and “I don’t care what you do, just stay safe,” and Eponine will make sure of that. He waves at her as Cosette steps into the passenger’s seat. She feels like chopped liver next to Cosette(“This creature,” as he brain provides, and while she means it to say she’s ethereal, she decides that “creature” is kind of a rude word.), and Cosette is a shining ray of light, even in the simplest of outfits, her smile shining through every angle Eponine catches her at.

It really is a simple outfit. A T-shirt tied in the front middle so it accentuates her curves, high waisted denim shorts, and Doc Martens. _ That’s a gay shoe, Ep, _ Grantaire’s voice rings in her head - they chastise each other over their respected unrequited loves, but Grantaire makes sure to let Eponine know how he thinks Cosette feels.  _ Straight girls don’t wear those shoes. Straight  _ guys _ don’t wear those shoes. Just give her a chance, _ he was slurring as he said all this, and staring at his phone on the table, awaiting a text or call that never came.  _ Maybe you’ll have more luck than I. _

She vaguely thinks, _R, you think too little of yourself_ , but keeps the idea silent. Cosette is in her passenger seat, humming along to something by Alicia Keys. The wind from Eponine’s window drowns out the music for her, or maybe it’s the sound of blood rushing to her head. This feels romantic. This feels _domestic._ _This feels right,_ she thinks.

Her phone vibrates, disturbing the sweet moment. It makes a vicious noise in the cupholder where it sits.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Cosette asks. She knows Eponine too well. She won’t answer until she’s parked. Eponine agrees, and Cosette opens her phone - she already knows the passcode.

“It’s from Grantaire.”

“Oh? He knows I’m driving.”

“Yeah, he said, ‘He’s sitting right next to me, what do I do?’” Eponine laughs.

“Call him a mess. Tell him to, uh, I don’t know,  _ talk to the guy?” _ Cosette diligently types up the text and sends it. She gets an immediate response.

“‘I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that. But I’m pretty sure he’s playing footsie. You better get here before I book it.’ Who is he talking about?”

Eponine laughs again as she stops for a red light. They’re nearly at the bar. “A boy he likes. He’s hopeless. Tell him I said that. We’re almost there.”

“He called you a dildo,” Cosette tells her, giggling over the last word. She doesn’t swear. It’s adorable. Eponine snorts.

“Don’t reply. I’m gonna steal his beer.” Cosette laughs, now. The shorter bits of her hair have fallen onto her forehead. She looks wonderful and effortless.

They enter the bar without too much of a commotion. Courfeyrac cheers as they make their way through the group, bringing both into a tight hug and greeting them before turning back to his drink, and Jehan’s story that interests him more than it would anyone else.

Eponine guides Cosette in a bee line to the table Grantaire is at. His face is red, but he’s smiling. There’s a man next to him, undoubtedly Enjolras; though Eponine never met him, she’s heard tales and praises of the fluffy blonde hair he sports. The way their sides are mashed together, Enjolras is definitely playing footsie.

The girls slip into the booth across from Grantaire and Enjolras. The blonde straightens up, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment. He was damn near draped over Grantaire.

He waves before extending his hand for a shake from both Cosette and Eponine. He introduces himself almost too formally, and they do the same. Cosette gives him her best pageant smile - she’s always nervous around new people, but she can’t bring herself to show it. She’s too nice. Too welcoming. It makes Eponine’s cheeks burn.

“He’s drunk,” Grantaire says after the introductions are over. “He’s usually much more formal.” There’s a cocky smile there - though he won’t do anything about his affections, he’s still a flirt.

“I am not  _ that _ drunk.”

“How many drinks have you had, Apollo?” He’s never really explained that nickname. But it must make sense, somewhere in that head.

“I had a beer and a glass of plum wine,” Enjolras tries to defend his honor, but Grantaire still laughs.

“Plum wine, of course, for the beauty here,” He goes to touch Enjolras but seems to think better of it.

_ I can’t become addicted to something I’ve never tasted, _ he had told her. He reminds her too much of herself. Though, she doesn’t have the self control that Grantaire has. He’s stayed himself on not touching Enjolras unprompted - Eponine can’t help but hold on to Cosette’s hand sometimes, to sling a casual arm around her shoulder, to toy with her soft hair occasionally. It all sets poor Eponine aflame, and of course, Cosette chalks it up to basic friendliness.

Grantaire sets his attention, suddenly, on the girls. _ He must be restraining himself _ , Eponine thinks, because she knows that if he looks at Enjolras for too long he’ll get lost and all fired up. “Well, ladies, you both look fabulous,” he makes a grand gesture at their outfits. “Alas, I still love men, but dear Eponine has nearly swayed me. A beautiful woman, you’ve grown into. You’re really not a bit the corkish girl that once you were,” Eponine laughs at the theatre reference, which nobody else seems to get. “I wonder how you haven’t found a wife, yet.”

“Sheer stupidity, I guess. And I’m only twenty-one.”

Grantaire hums. “And here I am, twenty-seven and without a husband.”

Enjolras pushes his arm, trying to contain a smile that’s been tugging at him since, probably, before the girls even arrived. “Twenty-seven is not that old.”

“Yeah,” Cosette says, “I’m sure you’ll find someone, if you really want to.”

“I think he already has,” Eponine mumbles, and yanks Grantaire’s beer away from him, making good on her promise to Cosette. He only whines a little, before Enjolras offers him his own.

Cosette slings an arm around the back of the booth, barely brushing Eponine’s shoulder, but it stings in a delightful way.

Grantaire brings light-hearted conversation back in, asking about their classes and how it feels adjusting to college life.

“My dorm mate is a nightmare,” Eponine mentions. She’s avoided the room since they met. The girl smells like hot dog water. She put up a poster for a weird British TV show in their room.

Grantaire laughs. “Get used to it. This school is full of them, and you just happened to fall into the weirdest group of them all.”

“Nobody here smells like hot dog water.”

“Oh, god. That’s disgusting, Ep.”

_ “Exactly, _ R.”

The whole table bursts into laughter, and sure, Enjolras is drunk, but he’s laughing. Eponine looks over at Cosette as they die down. Her cheeks are pink. More hair has fallen out of the hair tie, and Eponine wonders why she uses it at all.  _ Probably because this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, _ she thinks.

It isn’t long before Eponine has downed Grantaire’s beer and orders another. Cosette looks worriedly in her direction for a moment, but smiles when she looks back. “Be careful.”

It makes Eponine’s heart race to know Cosette cares like that. She knows Eponine’s parents were alcoholics. She’s worried about her. “This is the last one,” she promises, and makes good on that too.

The rest of the night goes on like that - Grantaire complimenting anyone he happens on(he hasn’t quite gotten to the stage of drunk where he wallows in self-pity; in fact, he seems to be avoiding it), loud, cacophonous laughter filling the bar, Courfeyrac hopping excitedly from clique to clique, and by the end of the night, Eponine’s cheeks hurt from smiling. School has been so stressful. She’s glad to have a night off from studying syllabi and textbooks.

Eventually, Enjolras sobers up just the slightest bit. It’s nearing closing time. “What are you two majoring in, by the way? R never told me,” she’s sure he means that to be a reprimand, but there’s no promise behind it. His face is loving.

“Women, gender and sexuality, actually,” Eponine states, though Cosette’s cheeks flush at the word “sexuality.” Shy, sweet Cosette.

Enjolras’s eyes land on Cosette, and Eponine feels a sting of jealousy, though she knows there’s no threat. Cosette just smiles. “Child development.”

“Oh?” Cosette nods. “I think that’s a wonderful thing to study, Cosette. We need more people who genuinely care for children.” Eponine and Grantaire nod in agreement. Grantaire’s starting to look tired, and Eponine is starting to feel it.

“What about you?” Cosette asks, and Eponine almost wishes she hadn’t.

“Revolution,” Grantaire jokes. “Nay, beauty. He’s got the certificate before he even finished,” the poetic facade has started to fade. Eponine knows he’ll pass out at the table if he sees fit.

Enjolras shoots him a look, but again, there’s no promise behind it - it seems like it’s just routine now. Eponine wonders if they’re already together, but she doesn’t know about it. She’d be livid to find out Grantaire got laid and didn’t tell her.

“I’m majoring in legal studies,” Enjolras says, calm and level. It seems his drunk has already gone away.  _ A skill few possess, _ Eponine thinks.

“But wouldn’t that get in the way of your revolution?” She asks.

Enjolras sighs. “I thought that too, but philosophy got me nowhere. People didn’t take me seriously. I figured, if you can’t beat them, join them, and tear them apart from inside out.” Grantaire laughs at that, but Enjolras is serious, and says so. “I’d like you to be serious, as well.”

“I fear I can’t do that, Apollo. Too wild.”  _ Wildly in love, _ she thinks.

‘ “Anyway, I think the best way to dismantle an abusive, cruel system is to get under its skin. I can make politicians trust me, I’ve done it hundreds of times in order to not get hurt.”

“You still end up getting hurt.”

“Don’t we all?”

Grantaire stares, and Eponine figures it’s a good time to get out of here, before those two dumbasses start fucking on the table. Or worse.  _ Talking out their feelings. _ She feels sick at the thought of watching Grantaire cry as he tells Enjolras just how badly he’s wanted to hold him all these years.

She excuses herself and Cosette, and leads her to the restroom. It’s empty, because this is a Les Amis event, and there are maybe three or four women involved with them. Eponine figures it’s because most of those boys are unbearable idiots. She loves them anyway.

Cosette smiles at her again. It’s not her pageant smile. It’s genuine, and Eponine can tell because there’s a little bit of pink above her teeth and her nose is all crinkly. She thinks she likes Cosette’s smile best - out of all her beautiful features, this display of intangible joy is the one that makes Eponine’s heart soar.  _ It’s enough, _ she thinks, _ Even if I never tell her I love her. This is enough for me. _

Eponine actually had to use the restroom, and does so. When she’s alone in the stall, she thinks more about the possibility of Cosette loving her back. Grantaire is so dead-set on Cosette not being straight. She thinks of Marius, who was a senior in high school when Cosette and Eponine were freshmen, and they both were over the moon for him. She thinks, for a moment, _ Cosette can’t possibly like girls, she loved him so much, _ but then she remembers herself. She remembers figuring out she’s gay. She remembers that Cosette could like girls and boys. There’s a chance of her liking Eponine back. And this feels like high school again, pining for someone and blushing at the idea, “they might like me back.”

She re-touches her lipstick after she washes her hands, and Cosette readjusts the hair tie in her hair, becoming frustrated for a moment, mumbling “Why did I even get this stupid bob,” but Eponine things the haircut is cute - it frames her face just right. She reminds herself to thank Cosette’s hairdresser.

Cosette reaches into her bag and pulls out two pink heart-shaped barrettes and clips her shorter hairs in place, and somehow, that’s the last straw. She can’t handle it anymore. She stares at Cosette, who stares back, and they’re both blushing, and Eponine tells herself,  _ Move, you fucking imbecile, _ but it’s Cosette. It’s Cosette who makes the first move. Her hand lands on Eponine’s, putting the tube of lipstick on the counter and intertwining their fingers, and she tilts her head up -  _ God, I’m so much taller than her, _ Eponine thinks - and kisses her on the cheek first.

She thinks for a moment, that it might have been just a sweet, friendly gesture. Eponine isn’t really familiar with having friends who are girls, save for girlfriends. She doesn’t know what girls do platonically.

But that thought is squashed when perfectly glossed lips graze her own, tainting the gloss with black cream, and it’s tentative, scared - like Cosette is afraid of being rejected.

Eponine wants to let her know that will never happen. She’d follow Cosette to the ends of the earth. Cosette is her one weakness, if she’ll admit she has one. She moves her free hand to hold Cosette’s side, where thin white tee meets denim shorts, and it stays there. She tugs the shorter girl close, so they’re really kissing, and Eponine is on fire - she hopes Cosette is, too.

That would seem the case, because Cosette shoves a hand into tangled black hair, pulling her close, like she wants to be part of her.

It doesn’t last long. Eponine feels the air leaving her lungs, and thinks about how the black lipstick will stain Cosette’s lips, and while part of her is content with that, the rational bit of her mind tells her that it’ll be a pain in the ass. So she pulls away. Cosette’s cheeks are flushed again, and her eyes are closed, dark eyelashes against olive skin and Eponine longs to see those brown eyes staring up at her. She nudges her with her nose, telling her to look up.

There’s nothing but love in those eyes. She could swear she sees heart shapes in them, but it’s probably just distortion of the restroom lights. She smiles, and Cosette smiles back, and the world is in pieces, but so, so right.

Cosette speaks first, for once. “I’ve wanted to do that forever,” she whispers, biting her lip in a way that should probably not seduce Eponine the way it does.

“How long?”

“Too long,” Cosette answers, and dives in again, with fervor, but pulls away again. “We’re in a bathroom.”

Eponine laughs, hugging Cosette close to her. She’s warm. “We sure are,” she’s breathless and her voice is even more hoarse than usual. “We sure are.”

“How long for you, then?”

“Probably since we were toddlers.”

“God.”

“I know. That’s why Grantaire made fun of me.”

“To be fair, he’s not much better. Enjolras was basically begging him to kiss him and he made jokes about being unloveable.”

“Yeah.”

Eponine vaguely remembers the tainted lip gloss on Cosette’s lips and cheek and chin. She silently thanks god that the sweet girl doesn’t wear foundation as she digs a wipe out of her own bag to clean her up. “I love your freckles,” she says, her voice soft and inviting in a way she didn’t know she was capable of. Cosette smiles and looks down again. “And your eyes.”

“I used to get made fun of for them.”

“Preposterous.”

“Well, racism.”

“Right. Dumbasses. You’re breathtaking,” Eponine says, and she means it. She finds herself gasping for air with every glance.

She fixes her own lipstick, and opts for taking it off altogether before leaving the restroom. “It was a gamble, anyway, you know I hate makeup. But I thought I looked hot.”

“You did.”

The affirmation makes her tingle.

They emerge to find that Enjolras and Grantaire have left, Courfeyrac said they slipped out the back when nobody(except Courf himself) was looking. Eponine breathes a sigh of relief and a “Finally,” before explaining that Cosette should be getting home, she has a class in the morning. They say their goodbyes with the usual fanfare that comes with Courfeyrac.

The drive back to Cosette’s father’s home is nearly silent, but Cosette has planted a hand on Eponine’s thigh and shows no intent of moving it. They sing along to songs they don’t know, the whole way.

When they arrive, Cosette invites Eponine in. Eponine obliges.


End file.
